The Lost Prince
by Ryan.w123
Summary: A Prince from a foreign land has docked in Republic City fighting for his father's throne and now he seeks to make new allies in this strange new world that he finds himself in. He comes from a land of war, a land of smoke. A Land of Ice and Fire. OC.


**A/N: ****Okay… I have been gone a while and yes, this is a new story. But, I am alive and with new ideas. So, what is this story about? Well, the description is vague. This will be a slight crossover with the novel series 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or as you will commonly know it as… Game of Thrones. The main character is an OC of mine, Prince Steffon Baratheon, Son to the One True King, Stannis Baratheon. For a reference to the timeline of events, this story takes place after Book 4 in The Legend of Korra and the beginning of 'A Dance of Dragons' for ASOIAF. And if you know the GoT books, good, because this will not be following the TV show and you will also know that by the fifth book, 'A Dance of Dragons', Stannis' army and men are not in the best place during the War of the Five Kings. As for the world itself… The Four Nations are what is west of Westeros. Hope you all enjoy!**

Steffon I:

The storm raged with the thunder of The Father, lightning cracked in the distance, the sea crashing against the hull of the galley. Steffon had never been fond of the sea or its depth, but he endured it. He endured. But this storm had brought with it waves the height of castles and just as violent as men defending a siege, it was unlike anything he had ever seen. It had been two months since they had left from Bear Island, on his father's orders, with three ships and a small retinue of one hundred men. The Young Prince gazed sternly outside the window of his cabin, watching the rain droplets hit the glass. _When will this storm pass? _He wondered. His father tasked him with travelling to Dorne by sailing down Westeros' west coast, hoping to avoid the patrols of ships near Blackwater Bay. But, he thought it folly. The Dornish would never side with his father, especially since he was on the other side of the continent in a frozen wasteland, with few men and less food. He advised his father to wait at the Wall, regroup and let winter pass. But he doubted if his father would listen, his father is the King after all.

Steffon sat back on the small bed and picked up the broken looking glass, examining himself. His father and uncle Renly had always said that he looked like his Uncle Robert. The same short crop of black hair, the face of a maiden's dream and the strong body to go with it. But, he had his father's eyes. The cold, steel eyes of Stannis Baratheon. _The eyes of a King._ He thought. Dirt marred his face and hands, there is little time to wash when you're at war and less time when travelling by ship. _War... _He was beginning to think this war would never end, the bastard Tommen sat upon the Iron Throne, what was his father's by all rights, but this war had been dragging on and ever since their defeat at the Battle of Blackwater Bay, they looked less and less likely to win.

But they would. Their cause was just and the throne rightfully his family's. If the Red Woman were here she would say The Lord of Light would guide them. Steffon had no time for the ramblings of priestesses. Gods do not win wars, men do. It may be futile to ask the Dornish for support, but he would do his duty and hopefully they would too. Steffon put the glass down and lay back on his bed, letting sleep consume him.

The knock on his cabin door stirred him from his slumber, a headache threatened to pierce his mind. The first thing his sleep-addled mind registered was the lack of rain outside his window. _Good… The storm has passed. _He quickly dressed in a simple tunic, surcoat and breeches before going to the door to answer. At the other side of the door was his best friend, Ser Lyonel Florent. Lyonel was his mother's nephew and had been his father's ward at Dragonstone for many years, both Steffon and Lyonel had grown up together, played together, fought together. The knight was a handsome man with a small hook nose, blue eyes and curly brown hair. He stood at attention as Steffon answered the door, adorned in his plate armour.

"Your Grace," He greeted, "We have spotted land." Lyonel seemed uneasy and his eyes carried a doubt that could be spotted only by Steffon.

"What is troubling you, Lyonel?" He asked the knight. Lyonel fidgeted in place before replying.

"We are not at Dorne, Your Grace… or even in Westeros, I believe." Came the reply. Steffon raised his brow, before simply pushing past Lyonel and out on the deck. He gazed out across the bay they found themselves in and spotted a marvel. The first thing to catch his eye was the magnificent statue that stood in the bay. What looked to be a young bald man, holding a staff, with arrows on his head. Steffon had been to Braavos and seen its Titan, this statue had to be near the same size, but it was not the Titan. He felt a clenching in his chest. _Where are we? _He wondered. There was no record of a second city with a Titan guarding the city, especially one on the west coast of Westeros, this was not Lannisport, this was not Oldtown. But, he could not let panic set in. Clearly, the storm has thrown them way off course, but this requires a sharp mind.

The next wonder that caught his gaze was the city beyond the bay. It was marvellous to say the least. Tall, imposing buildings that thrust into the sky, yet there were green vines wrapped around a large portion, like nature was trying to destroy man, or perhaps working with it. But the buildings looked strange, they were not made of stone, but glass and metal. This was perhaps one of the lost wonders of the world. Steffon turned to Lyonel, who had joined him at his right side.

"Well, it would appear we are not in Westeros anymore, Lyonel." He simply stated. "Raise the banner, let them know who we are. I will put my armour on, we must prepare for if the locals are hostile." Lyonel nodded curtly in reply and began shouting orders at the men on deck. Steffon retreated to his cabin to put his armour on. As he put the plate on, he was thinking. Would this new place be receptive to foreigners? Would they need to fight a battle as soon as they landed? It is a battle they would likely lose badly, there were only one hundred men with him, no cavalry and they were all tired and hungry. Steffon himself had not eaten in two days, but he endured. He would always endure. He looked down and saw the sigil of his father, emblazoned upon the chest of his armour. The flaming heart with a crowned stag at its centre. It was his sigil too. _Ours is the Fury. _He thought. His family's words echoed in his head. He hoped that these locals would receive him and his men well, but if they did not, they would fight until the end. He strapped his longsword to his waist and went onto the deck, waiting for them to dock.

He took it as a good sign that they were not set upon by ballistae or trebuchets as they began to talk, but there was a large group of people seemingly waiting for them. Even from the deck he could hear the hustle and bustle of wonder and the questions that would undoubtedly be asked. What caught him off guard however, were the flashes of light that occasionally came from the crowd. At the front of the group were some figures that Steffon could only assume were their leaders. First, there was a tall man wearing yellow and red robes, a bald head with the same arrows as the statue, tattooed onto him. He also sported a beard and he had the aura of a wise man. Standing next to him were a group of younger people around his age. First was a rather striking woman, with short black hair and olive skin like a Dornishwoman. She wore a blue and navy-blue attire of some description **{I know it is a parka… But a person from Westeros, particularly the south, would have never seen clothes like these before.}**. It was like a mixture of winter furs and an undershirt. She stood tall, confident and had her arms crossed. Beside her was another beautiful woman, a tad shorter than the first and wearing a different, but equally strange attire of black and red, she had long black hair and beside her were two boys, one slender and tall, with black hair and black clothes, the other bulky and strong with black hair and green clothes. He also had a small red creature perched upon his shoulder. As he examined more people along their line, such as an older, grey haired woman wearing armour, an extremely strange sight, he turned to Lyonel and nodded.

When the main ship finally came to a halt and anchored, a plank was brought down to the dock and his men began filing off the ship, all wearing their armour and with spears and swords. On his ship, he had twenty-five of his one hundred men, they did not bother for the others to dock before disembarking. Finally, Lyonel walked off the plank and gazed at the now tense locals.

"Please, welcome onto your land and home, the Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne, son of King Stannis of the House Baratheon, Prince Steffon of the House Baratheon!" Lyonel announced as Steffon began walking down to the dock, his men simply knelt as he walked passed.

"STANNIS! STEFFON! STANNIS! STEFFON!" They chanted before he simply raised a hand, then they stopped and rose. He walked forward, carefully watching the locals as their tension turned to curiosity. He wondered if they spoke the common tongue. He supposed he would test that theory.

"Which of you is the ruler of this city? Who is your Lord? Or your King?" He inquired with a raised brow, clearly, they were not Westerosi. It was then that another man stepped forward, he was wearing what appeared to be a pompous attire of red and black. He was tall, but not quite as tall as Steffon, who was still a good head taller. He was middle-aged, perhaps the same age as Ser Davos. His skin was a shade or two darker than his own and he had a small moustache on his lip. He bowed respectfully.

"Well, um… Hello, stranger. I am President Raiko. I am the man who runs this city." Raiko said with a nervous smile.

"Doubtless one man rules a city this big without council." Steffon knowingly replied. Raiko fidgeted nervously, but before he could reply, the bald man in robes stepped forward and also bowed respectfully.

"Greetings, Your Highness. I am Master Tenzin. It is very good to meet you, might I inquire as to where you are travelling from?" He asked with a raised brow.

"I come from Westeros, Master Tenzin. Have you not heard of the Seven Kingdoms?" This got a negative shaking of the head from everyone behind the Master and one from Tenzin himself.

"I am afraid not…" Came his shaky reply.

"Then, it would appear we have both discovered something new today." Steffon dismissively replied, not caring for this open talk in public. Words could travel to the wrong ears. "My men and I require food. I would also like a proper bed to sleep in and a place to bathe. We have not eaten in some time, you see."

"W-well, of course, Prince Steffon." Came Raiko's reply, "We could hold a feast, if you'd like? To new foreign friends, a Prince no less!" Raiko offered earning a scoff from Steffon.

"I have no need of your pageantry or vanity. All I need is a meal, a bath and a bed. Also, enough time to make some repairs upon our ships." Steffon replied, giving the President a hard gaze. This man was a groveler. He had no time for people like him. It was then that Tenzin spoke up.

"You are more than welcome to join myself and my family in our home on Air Temple Island, we would be honoured to have new guests such as yourself." He offered to which Steffon nodded.

"Lead the way. My men shall remain here at the ships." Steffon curtly replied as he nodded at Lyonel to attend to the men. "Lyonel, you are coming with me."

"Of course, Your Grace." Lyonel smiled back.

Steffon and Lyonel stayed by Master Tenzin's side as they walked to a ferry that would take them to the island, yet he couldn't help but notice the group following them. The two women and two men that he had noted earlier were following close behind.

"Are these your servants, Master Tenzin?" Steffon simply asked. He noted an almost offended look from the two women before the man in green piped up.

"Oh no, Mr. Prince, uh... Sir! We are friends and uh… You know, curious." He clumsily said. "I'm Bolin, by the way!" Steffon simply gave the man a hard gaze and looked back to Tenzin.

"I assume he is your fool." Is all he said as he boarded the ferry and retreated into the lower half with Lyonel. He had an inkling these people would either bring him glory or ruin.

**A/N: ****Is this the best place to leave the chapter? Probably not. But I do need to leave it here as it was simply a taster for what's to come and let us be honest… There is going to be a major culture clash. A 20****th**** century, prohibition era culture with magical bending, clashing with a brutal medieval society full of murder, rape, war and plots. Yea, they will have a shaky start. But, I hope you enjoyed this first taste of The Lost Prince. **


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